Everyday, he followed me. Sometimes, close at my heels. At other times, he stood afar and stared. Every so often, he would draw nearer from the front. He’d match my pace. If I stopped, he’d stop. If I moved left, he’d move right.

I never once met his gaze. I ignored his presence. And yet my entire self was ever conscious of his movements. His attention never deterred. I never understood his fixation towards me.

There was ever this primal fear that haunted me.  Perhaps the fear was ill-founded. Yet, I panicked. Every time I stepped out. And until I cleared the vicinity. I was frightened that I’d be mauled and swathed with unwanted wet kisses.

Deep down I knew he was just trying to be nice. But I have always been scared of dogs.